


Armoury Paramours

by Alistra (ALeaseInWonderland)



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Minor Knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25767817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALeaseInWonderland/pseuds/Alistra
Summary: For the prompt:"I don’t know who you are or how you got in here, but I need you to give back at least some of the armoury."Be_Compromised Bingo Challenge 2020 Square E1: "kinky"
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39
Collections: Be Compromised Promptathon, be_compromised Bingo Collection





	Armoury Paramours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiss_me_cassie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_me_cassie/gifts).



> Written in response to the above prompt by [kiss_me_cassie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_me_cassie/pseuds/kiss_me_cassie) on the [Be Compromised Summer Promptathon 2020](https://be-compromised.dreamwidth.org/583594.html).

"I don’t know who you are or how you got in here, but I need you to give back at least some of the armoury," Clint says, inching towards the large red alarm button on the wall. He does get close, too, his fingertips all but brushing the plastic casing when a familiar knife is flung with deadly accuracy, pinning his sleeve to the wall. It is honed to such sharpness, the faint trickle of warm blood registers before the sting of the shallow cut does.

"Okay, that's my knife. I am tempted to take that more personal than the part where you tried to rob and kill me."

In the flickering shadow from the busted neon tube above, a slender figure straightens from their crouch behind a rack of guns.

"Had I tried to kill you, you would be dead," a woman's voice replies evenly, a strong Slavic lilt to her words. She steps into the light and without the shadow of a doubt, Clint believes her.

"You don't argue the robbery part?" he says, managing to make pinned-like-a-moth-under-glass look like deliberately leaning on the wall.

"They are beautiful knives. Perfect balance." The way her hips sway as she approaches makes him wonder whether this is the kind of seductive prowl that inspired the term 'cat burglar'. Of course, she's caught his openly admiring look, anticipated it most likely. After all it is doubtful the zipper of her skintight suit sits this low simply for reasons of ventilation.

Her smile contains a hint of teeth.

Clint's own suit feels decidedly tighter than before.

"It is not robbery if you give knives to me voluntarily," she purrs, her accent extra-thick as she steps into his personal space. "I can be very persuasive."

There is no resistance when her nimble fingers curl into his free hand, her boot edges between his own. Up close, Clint smells the soft notes of shampoo and fresh sweat on clean skin. Thus distracted, it is only when the thump of a second knife against the wall registers that he realizes she's stretched his other arm out and pinned it as well.

Only his long sleeves are punctured, he could rip away without too much effort, but she's leaning in, her knee between his now. Swallowing hard, he feels the flat of the third double-edged throwing knife against his throat.

"Would you like to be... persuaded, Mister Security?" the woman breathes, cheek to cheek, finally leaning in all the way, her chest against his, her thigh pressing up deliciously between his own.

Shuddering with anticipation, Clint's breath leaves him.

Both of them freeze at the crackle of static before a voice addresses them from a hidden speaker in the ceiling.

"I spy, with my all-seeing-JARVIS... Widow, Hawkeye, are you kinky role-playing in the communal armoury?"

Clint drops his head with a groan and Natasha pulls the knives from the wall with visible annoyance.

"We might've been, if you could have kept your nose out of it for another 20 minutes," she snaps, no longer any hint of an accent to her tone.

"I thought you'd disabled the surveillance," Clint wonders quietly, checking the shallow nick on his wrist. It was a good throw, the line of blood is so thin, it's already scabbing over.

"Maybe I wanted to do a performance review later," she grins, shelving the knives and opening the door.


End file.
